


The Bite of Steel, The Taste of Fun

by My_Black_Crimson_Rose6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fights, M/M, Tumblr Prompts, Violent Flirting, is that even a thing? (it is now), knife battle!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3929335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6/pseuds/My_Black_Crimson_Rose6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mercenary laid there staring at the Freelancer—he nodded when the man picked up the mercenary’s fallen blade. Washington tossed it up with a flick of his wrist—practiced. Fluid. Felix was intrigued by the movement; the light reflecting off the blade as it twirled lazily in the air before the man caught it in his right hand. <br/>He watched with a fascination even when the man drew his wrist and arm back and slammed the blade into the computer that Felix resting on. Sparks flew out and he yelped, swearing as he scampered away from the electrified machine as it fried out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bite of Steel, The Taste of Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Anon asked for::   
> "I could totally see a washlix AU where wash and felix knife battle and felix-im-better-than-everyone-ever-mcscouty is shocked because holy shit this washington dude is actually on the same skill level as him (maybe even going so far he looks forward to their clashes)"
> 
> And i just loved this prompt. I love it so much~~

Washington spent most of his time playing mediator between the Rebels and the Feds—they both tended to listen to him and he had gained the respect of both sides through training day in and day out. He wasn’t expecting it; to see outside of the base without Doyle or Kimball. But he did—their main group out with Carolina (and Tucker and even Doctor Grey).

They needed to act quickly before one of their holds fell to the pirates. So Wash had dragged the men out; as few as he could manage and sped their way to the base.

Palomo’s hands shook and Wash ignored it—he wasn’t about to call out the kid for being nervous, wasn’t about to put him out there in front of his team right before a fight. Wash had no idea what they were going into either; they got a distress signal and that was the last they heard of them. Bitter’s foot pressed further down on the gas pedal and the Warthog’s engine spurred all the quicker.

There was a shout over the gunfire as the three Warthogs arrived at the scene. Wash jumped out, off the back of the machine and waved Palomo to take over the turret. The former Freelancer waved Jensen and Smith’s division to go around the base and work their way through the back entrance while Wash and two other soldiers went in through the front while Bitter and Palomo provided a very _loud_ and very… Blood Gulch solider like distraction.

The Warthog peeled off with a squeal of tires and Wash tried to hold the hiss back at the sound. Reminded him too much of his past _mishaps_ with vehicles.

The two soldiers and Agent Washington spilt up once breaching through the front entrance; Wash could hear gun fire and an explosion further into the base. Washington didn’t _know_ this base, not as well as he could’ve (or should’ve for that matter) but there was multiple entrances and it would be easier for Wash to go off on his own while the other two took one of the other entrances.

So that’s exactly what they did—Wash ducked through an opening with his gun steadied and leveled, one foot in front of the other as he advanced. When he’d come across a body he’d stop and check for a pulse; friend or foe it mattered not. Wash made his way through the building into the center most part without firing his gun once—it didn’t feel right.

It didn’t feel right when he opened the door to the center console room, gun trained into the room as the door slid open. It didn’t feel right and the reason why was answered by a combat knife sailing past where his head was moments before he ducked.

“Well, well,” the man purred crossing his ankles as he relaxed back against the control panel. Maps, information and who knows what else flickered by as the Mercenary stole and whipped the machine of all its information. “I didn’t expect _you_ to show up for something as small as this,” the mercenary clicked his tongue against his teeth and pushed off the consol.

Washington leveled his rifle at the center of the man’s chest, “could say the same to you. Thought something like this would be too _lowly_ for your pay grade.” They had got Felix talking before, had them ruin _everything_ because of the man’s love for talking. Felix rolled his shoulder and tilted his helmet covered head; intrigued at not being shot outright.

But then again, _this_ was a Freelancer— _this_ was Locus’ _dear_ **Agent Washington**. It was embarrassing on just how many nights Felix got drunk to his (and the rest of the pirates’) game of _Take a Shot Every Time Locus Says Agent Washington_.

This was Agent Washington; man who just _wouldn’t **die**_.

“When you want things done right you do them yourself,” he pressed two fingers to the barrel of Washington’s rifle and pushed it away from his chest. “And, of course, there’s always that chance to see _Agent Washington_.” He dipped his voice as low as possible in an effort to mimic his partner in this job.

Washington followed through with the motion, taking one hand off him primary weapon and holstering the rifle. Felix still had his shield either way, and Washington was already aware that the man had a prowess for hand to hand combat, as well as a love for a blade.

What Felix wasn’t aware was that Washington learned from a skilled individual that out-ranked both Felix _and_ Carolina with knives—Connie. The one thing that Connie was hell bent on teaching him was how to properly throw and handle a blade; from there years of practice had shaped his skill into what it was today.

And no one was familiar with just _how_ much knowledge Washington had around the weapon—he didn’t _want_ that to be known, he _liked_ that it was a surprise that he could still whip out in the middle of a fight when everything was going to shit and he had nothing else but a blade and his wits.

He had a typical Chorus military issued combat knife tucked just out of view on his person (he had lost his others in battles before crash landing on Chorus), he knew exactly where it was—how heavy it was, how to handle it, how much pressure he’d have to press with to have it pierce through the Kevlar suit and into ribs and flesh.

So when Felix shifted his weight from his right foot in a quick and well practiced motion, Wash pulled out his own blade—they clashed and the man hummed. He bounced back with a flourish and nodded his head at the former Freelancer in a mocking bow of _respect_.

He was going to have _fun_ tearing this man apart—after everything that the Reds and Blues and those _Freelancers_ had ruined. Felix was going to slowly carve the man, piece by bloody piece until he was no longer identifiable.

Washington was left handed while Felix was right, what the blades didn’t block was dodged or brushed away with a well timed block and counter. Felix pushed off, kicking his bendy body around to deliver a textbook _beautiful_ round house kick to the man’s head—if not for the block and grab that threw Felix up against the control panel.

The mercenary laid there staring at the Freelancer—he nodded when the man picked up the mercenary’s fallen blade. Washington tossed it up with a flick of his wrist—practice, fluid. Felix was intrigued by the movement; the light reflecting off the blade as it twirled lazily in the air before the man caught it in his right hand.

He watched with a fascination even when the man drew his wrist and arm back and _slammed_ the blade into the computer that Felix resting on. Sparks flew out and he yelped, swearing as he scampered away from the electrified machine as it fried out.

“As much fun as that was,” Washington drew out, his left hand tossing the blade up so he could shift his grip. He was showing off—he was showing off _for Felix_ ; he didn’t know if he should be pissed off or _touched_. “You’re not leaving this building alive.”

Felix tsked, there goes the giddy feeling—and here he was thinking about changing Locus’ status of #1 Washington Fanboy to #2 (after yours truly). He was going to think of all the gay butt babies they could have, all the knife battles before, after, and during sex.

Felix sighed, “And I’m thinking that I will.” He shook his transportation cube and smirked when Washington swore and he slammed the glowing alien artifact to the ground.

\--

“Son of a bitch,” Felix hissed pulling the Chorus military grade combat knife out of the opening between his shoulder and arm armor covering—it went through the Kevlar suit, and Chorus had shitty knives! He dropped the blade to the floor of their base and stalked off, hand covering the bleeding wound.

Oh, he was going to have _fun_ with Agent Washington the next time he saw him.


End file.
